If Wishing Made if So
by Bron
Summary: Lindsay reflects on her stabbing


Title: If Wishing Made It So  
  
Author: Bron (bronwyn_00@excite.com)  
  
Summary: Lindsay suffers the after effects of her stabbing.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to DEK and ABC  
  
* * *  
  
  
If wishing made it so.  
  
  
Living is a complicated process. Far more complicated than I ever realised  
before. It's strange how when life is going well, or even going as expected  
you tend not to focus on the fact that living requires effort, it requires  
a commitment. There are certain things you must do to stay alive, things  
like eating, drinking, sleeping, these are mandatory requirements, but  
that's not living that's existing.  
  
Living requires other things, things like, interacting with others, setting  
goals, feeling emotions. A person who can't feel emotions can never really  
be considered alive can they? I mean they can walk, they can talk, they can  
function but without the emotion behind all these actions to complete them  
are they anything more than a shell? A vessel? A shadow of their former  
self? When the numbness stretches to encompass all that they are, and all  
that they used to be, is there even any reason for them to continue?  
  
I ask these questions because I think it's very possible that that's the  
person I've turned into. The one that doesn't care about life anymore.  
Which is really strange when you think about it, because as a victim of a  
violent crime, you'd think that I would care about life more, that having  
come so close to death, literally feeling myself fading away, that now I'd  
be embracing everything.  
  
So what's wrong with me? Why aren't I stopping to smell the roses and watch  
the children play in the parks? Why can't I take enjoyment from sunny days  
or birds singing in the trees? Did I ever do that? If I did it's all a  
distant memory now.  
  
I know people are worried about me, my family, my friends. They don't  
understand why I haven't bounced back faster than this. My physical wounds  
have healed, but my psychological ones fester. I don't blame them it's not  
their fault, I know I'm shutting them out. The truth is I'm too scared to  
let them in, too scared to let them see the darkness and anger I have  
stirring inside me. Mostly I'm too scared to let them see the fear. So  
instead I show them indifference, I don't laugh at their jokes, I ignore  
their attempts to include me in conversations, I distance myself. It's  
easier to embrace the numbness than force myself to face the things that  
I'm really feeling and make myself deal with it.  
  
As much as I wish I could get back to the woman I was before the attack, I  
fear that she's already drifted passed my reach, and not trying is easier  
than failing, right? It's certainly easier to tell myself that. But I find  
myself starting to wonder what it would take if I did make the effort, who  
could make me understand what I'm feeling, who could help me deal with it  
instead of tucking tail and running.  
  
I'd like to think it would be Bobby, but to be honest I don't think he can  
do that for me. Bobby is one of those people who likes to pretend problems  
don't exist. If you ignore it for long enough then surely it'll go away.  
I've tried that method I don't think it's working for me. I'd also like to  
think I could talk to Helen or my parents but I don't think that would work  
either, I don't think I could explain this new person I've become in a way  
they could understand, I don't think I even want too.  
  
But I know I need to talk to someone, I need to start somewhere, I know I  
need help. I also think I know where to find it. During my senior year of  
high school my parents were having marital problems and I started to feel  
like my world was crashing down around me, my Mother got worried about me  
and she sent me to this psychiatrist, Dr Hurley. At first I'd gone in there  
belligerent and angry, determined that there was nothing she could do to  
help me. She'd put up with my attitude and after a while I'd started to  
unwind, I ended up telling her things I'd never thought I could share with  
anyone else. She got me through a really bad point in my life. I stopped  
going to see her when I got accepted into college, I'd felt stronger by  
then, ready to face any challenges.  
  
But I don't feel strong anymore and I think I might need her again.  
  
* * *  
  
I'm literally shaking as I knock on the door, and for the third time in as  
many minutes I find myself fighting the urge to turn back around a leave, I  
nearly do it too, but then the door opens and I'm ushered inside. Dr Hurley  
is exactly as I remember her. She's aged since I've last seen her, but the  
basic things, the warmth and caring I always associated with her remain the  
same. It eases my tension slightly.  
  
She smiles and I know she can tell how nervous I am as she leads me to a  
chair and urges me to sit, before siting opposite me. She smiles warmly  
"It's been a long time Lindsay"  
  
I nod, I'm actually still a little surprised that she remembers me because  
it has been so long. But then I guess I don't forget to many of my clients  
either. "How are you're parents?" she asks me, after an awkward pause.  
  
"They're good, they're divorced now"  
  
She doesn't look surprised by that information, but instead leans forward  
"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?"  
  
"No….. No I'm okay with all of that, it was a while ago anyhow"  
  
"Okay then, how can I help you?"  
  
"I wanted too…… That is….." I wonder why it's so hard for me to open up to  
this woman who used to know me so well, and I put it down to the fact that  
I'm out of practice.  
  
"You wanted to talk about the attack"  
  
I look at her surprised "You know about that?"  
  
"It was front page news" she says, nodding "I was very worried about you,  
and happy when I'd gheard you'd pulled through"  
  
"The jury's still out on that one" I say with a self-depreciating smile.  
  
She nods in understanding "I read that they caught the man responsible,  
that he's dead"  
  
I take a deep breath because this is part of my problem "They think so,  
they can't be sure it was him but Bobby seems pretty confident, he's sure  
the police got the right guy"  
  
"Bobby Donnell, your boss?"  
  
"He's…" I reach down to fiddle with the ring on my finger "He's my fiancé.  
He proposed to me when I was in hospital"  
  
A small smile appears on her face "That sounds lovely, what else does Bobby  
say?"  
  
"That I should get past it, that I should move on and focus on other  
things"  
  
"Like the wedding?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess. Bobby doesn't like to spend a lot of time looking back, he  
prefers to focus on the future"  
  
"But you can't?"  
  
I shake my head, swallowing the lump that's become lodged in my throat  
"No…. I'm having some trouble with that"  
  
"That's not at all uncommon Lindsay, it would be more uncommon if you could  
just put it aside without dealing with it. Your body suffered a severe  
trauma, but so did your psyche, curing one doesn't necessarily cure the  
other. Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
I nod, the lump expanding until I think I might choke on it. "I've been  
having nightmares" I finally manage to say, my voice sounding raspy.  
  
She stands and pours me a glass of water which I gratefully accept. After a  
moment she asks "Can you tell me about them?"  
  
"It's always the same one" I pause, drinking deeply, to steady my nerves  
"I'm in the office by myself and I hear a noise at the door. I open it and  
there's a man standing there, he's dressed in a Nun's outfit but I can't  
see his face. All I can see is his hand"  
  
"Why his hand?"  
  
"Because he's holding a knife" If I close my eyes I'm sure I'll see the  
glint of the blade so I focus on the doctor, I notice that she's picked up  
a notebook and she's making notations as I speak.  
  
She looks over at me "You don't mind do you? It helps me keep everything  
clear" I shake my head, and she continues "You were telling me about the  
knife?"  
  
"The dream always ends the same, he lifts the knife and even though I can  
see it coming towards me I can't seem to move, then he's stabbing me and I  
can feel it. Every puncture…." I'm starting to visualise the words as I say  
them so I take a deep breath to draw myself back "And then I wake up  
screaming"  
  
She waits while I calm down "How often do you have these nightmares,  
Lindsay?"  
  
"Not all the time, there's no set pattern" She doesn't comment, so I keep  
talking "Maybe once a week or so"  
  
"Do you know what triggers them?"  
  
I shake my head "No…. I mean how could I?"  
  
She's regarding me carefully "Are you sure? With cases like this there's  
usually some sort of specific trigger. A taste, a smell, a sound, something  
visual - like a colour"  
  
I don't answer immediately, instead taking some time to consider "A smell……  
There's this scent I think he was wearing, maybe some sort of cologne.  
Sometimes I think I can smell it so clearly, and then the next instant it's  
gone, and I'm sure I must have imagined it. I've brought it up a few times  
but no-one else can ever seem to smell it, and I don't want to keep  
mentioning it because….."  
  
"Because you don't want them to think you're crazy?" she says, filling in  
the blanks.  
  
I nod, and take a moment to compose myself.  
  
"What other people think of you is important?"  
  
I know what she's trying to do here, she's changing the subject to give me  
breathing room. "Sure" I reply "In my line of work it's important to build  
a reputation. If people think you're cracking up they're not likely to want  
to hire you"  
  
"So you're afraid this will affect your work?"  
  
"I think I'm afraid it already has been"  
  
She makes a few notes and then leans forward "What do you mean?"  
  
"Bobby, he's…. Well he's been screening the clients I take to make sure I'm  
not handling any murder or attempted murder cases"  
  
"Why do you think he's doing that?"  
  
Her direct gaze is making me uncomfortable, so I stand and walk over to  
look out the window "He's worried about me, I guess. He's trying to protect  
me"  
  
"Does he do that often?"  
  
I can see my reflection in the window and wonder when I started to look so  
old "Sometimes. More since the attack. He's paranoid about me going out  
alone"  
  
"Does he think you're going to get attacked again?"  
  
"I don't know" I answer, turning around to face her and leaning against the  
windowsill "I think he feels a little guilty because he was running late to  
get me that night. He thinks if he'd gotten there earlier he could have  
stopped it from happening"  
  
"Do you think that?"  
  
My eyebrows raise in surprise "Of course not"  
  
"What else?"  
  
I sigh and cross my arms in front of me, it's a defensive gesture I know  
but one I'm helpless to prevent "I think he's worried about the nightmares"  
  
"Do you talk to him about them?"  
  
"No" I shake my head "It's hard to. Mostly I'm just trying to forget them  
myself. I try to think of something else until they go away"  
  
"And does that work for you?"  
  
"Sometimes…… Sometimes better than others, but I usually find my mind  
drifting back"  
  
"To what?"  
  
I push myself off the windowsill and take my time walking back to the  
chair, because this is the part that I've been dreading mentioning "Death….  
I find myself thinking about death a lot"  
  
"About you dying?"  
  
I nod, then clarify "About what would have happened if I had died. I mean I  
was hurt really badly, by all accounts and purposes I should be dead right  
now. Sometimes I wonder why I'm not"  
  
"You think you should have died?" She puts her notebook down and focuses on  
me intently.  
  
"I wonder what the point is in surviving when I'm scared all the time. When  
I yell at the people who care about me because I have all this anger inside  
me for the person who did this too me, but I can't direct it at him, so I  
turn on them instead" I place my hand over my stomach "I have scars that I  
can't even look at, that I can't show other people"  
  
"Not even Bobby?"  
  
I shake my head "Especially not him"  
  
"How do you manage that?"  
  
I'm feeling emotion well up inside me, this is an area I hadn't planned to  
talk about today. It doesn't surprise me that Dr Hurley's managed to get  
there though. "It's always dark, on the nights he stays over with me, I  
make sure it's dark, that the lights are off"  
  
"And he's alright with that?"  
  
I shrug "He's tried to bring it up a couple of times, but when I say I  
don't want to talk about it he usually lets it go. I think he's afraid of  
pushing me too far"  
  
"Why are you keeping your scars from him Lindsay? What don't you want him  
to see?"  
  
I swallow at the new lump now residing in my throat but I'm less successful  
this time at stopping the tears "The fear" Dr Hurley reaches over and hands  
me a tissue, then waits patiently for me to continue. "When I look at the  
scars they're like a window….. An opening that this person used to take  
something from me, something really important and I'm afraid I'll never get  
it back."  
  
She picks up the pad and makes some more notes "Do you know what it was?"  
  
I shrug "My confidence… My belief in myself." I take a deep breath and  
stare at the floral arrangement on her coffee table "When I was eight or  
nine I watched this animated movie about a little boy who found a genie and  
he was granted three wishes. I used to spend hours thinking about what I'd  
wish for if I had three wishes."  
  
She seems intrigued by my story "What were your wishes?"  
  
"Well I wanted to go to Disneyland….. And I really wished my brother had  
been born a girl, because I was sure a sister would have been so much more  
fun…." I trail off and look at her sheepishly "I was eight" I say by way of  
explanation.  
  
She nods, and I can see the amusement in her eyes. "What about the third  
wish?"  
  
"I never chose a third wish, I knew whatever that one was it had to be  
something really big, really special. I wanted to save it, to hold onto it  
until I could figure out what that would be." I shrug "And then I forgot  
about the movie, and the wishes weren't important anymore"  
  
"They're important now?"  
  
I reach for the glass of water again, and take another large swallow,  
before setting the glass back "If I had that third wish now, I'd wish that  
I was whole again, that I could walk into a room and not be terrified. That  
I could sleep through the night without any bad dreams. That I could  
remember what if felt like to laugh."  
  
"And you don't think you can achieve those things on your own?"  
  
"I used to think if I worked hard enough that there was nothing I couldn't  
achieve on my own. Now I'm not so sure"  
  
She sets the notepad aside again "Would you like to know what I think?"  
  
"Sure"  
  
"I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for Lindsay. You  
suffered a traumatic experience and you survived it. But I think that's  
only half the battle, you need to start letting the people you love back  
into your life. And you need to start with Bobby. Show him your scars, not  
just the ones there" she says, pointing to my midsection "But the ones up  
here as well" she reaches up and taps her own skull "You need to start  
letting people in"  
  
I take a deep breath "It's hard"  
  
She nods in understanding "The most importing things often are"  
  
Just then the buzzer sounds indicating the end of my session, we both stand  
and she hold out her hand to shake mine. "You've made some real progress  
here today Lindsay, will you come back to see me?"  
  
I nod "Yes"  
  
"And will you take my advice?" I continue nodding and she smiles  
"Excellent, well I'll see you next time"  
  
She walks me to the door and waves as I exit. When I get outside I notice  
that the sun is shining, and I think if I listen really carefully beneath  
the sound of the passing traffic I may just be able to hear the birds  
singing in the trees.  
  
* * *  
  
It's already dark by the time Bobby arrives at his apartment, he looks  
surprised to see me, but also happy.  
  
"Hi" He says leaning down to kiss me "I thought you'd be at your place, I  
was going to give you a call to see how it went"  
  
I can see the worry in his eyes, he knew I was going to talk to the doctor  
today, I can tell it's been something he's been thinking about. I look  
around the kitchen at the meal I've prepared, and realise I don't want to  
put this off any longer. He's still looking at me waiting for an answer, so  
I summon all of my courage and take his hand in mine.  
  
My voice is a little rusty when I speak, but it's steady "Can you come with  
me for a moment, there's something I need to show you?"  
  
He looks surprised but he nods "Sure"  
  
My grasp on his hand tightens as I lead him into the bedroom, the lights  
are off and the room is dark and for a moment I really want to keep it that  
way, but I know I cant. With an unsteady hand I reach over and flip the  
light switch.  
  
"Lindsay?" Bobby's looking at me uncertainly.  
  
I let go of his hand and walk a couple of paces away, before turning back  
to face him. When I speak it's softly and I keep my eyes trained on his  
chest "I talked to Dr Hurley today"  
  
"How did it go?" I can here the concern in his voice, and I wonder how I  
could have excluded him for so long.  
  
"It went well…. I'm going to go back, but I feel better after talking to  
her"  
  
"I'm glad" I look up because I can hear something in his tone of voice,  
when I look into his eyes they're filled with relief, but also with traces  
of hurt.  
  
"I wanted to talk to you Bobby, but I couldn't" I watch as the hurt  
deepens.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
It's a perfectly reasonable question, but not one I have and easy answer  
for. "For the same reason I've been hiding my scars" he waits for me to  
continue and after a moment I do "Because I was afraid if I let you see me  
to closely you'd realise I wasn't the person you fell in love with, and  
that you might turn away, I wasn't sure I could handle that"  
  
"You think I'd think that if I saw your scars? You think I'd do that to  
you?"  
  
"I was afraid of it?"  
  
"Why? Lindsay what have I done to give you the impression that that's how  
I'd react?" I can hear a note of anger mingling with the hurt and I cant  
find any reason blame him for it.  
  
"Because when I looked at them all I saw was this ugliness and anger I had  
building inside me"  
  
I watch him take a deep breath as if to steady himself, and when he speaks  
this time his voice is calm "Do you want to know what I think I'd see if I  
looked at your scars?"  
  
I nod, unable to answer "If you showed them to me I think I'd see them as  
evidence that you're alive and that you're here with me. How could I see  
ugliness in that?" He reaches out to rest his hand on my cheek, urging me  
to look at him "I'm not going anywhere Lindsay, you can push all you want  
but I'm not going away"  
  
Tears well up in my eyes and I can't look away "I'm sorry Bobby, I should  
have trusted you more." I lift my hand to cover his where it's still  
resting on my cheek "I want to show you now" I say, and then draw a deep  
breath "No, I need to show you now"  
  
He nods and I drop my hand and step back, sinking onto the side of the bed.  
My strength is deserting me but I'm determined to follow through. I'm  
wearing one of his old Boston University t-shirts and I reach down grabbing  
hold of the hem and drawing it slowly over my head. It takes me a moment to  
summon the courage to look at him, but I finally slide my gaze up to meet  
his.  
  
When he looks at me there are tears in his eyes, and as he steps closer to  
me I have to fight the urge to cover myself. As if he knows what I'm  
thinking he reaches out an takes the shirt out of my grasp before sinking  
to his knees directly in front of me. I can't seem to move as he places  
both hands on my sides and leans down and places a light kiss on my  
stomach. I jolt a little at the contact but he holds me steady as he moves  
his lips down the incision made by the doctors and then one by one over the  
puncture marks made by the knife. It's as if he's committing each one to  
memory.  
  
When he lifts his head the tears are still glistening and his eyes are  
filled with such sadness and love that it takes my breath away.  
  
"I'm sorry you felt you couldn't share this with me before" he says as the  
first tear slides down his cheek "I'm sorry I couldn't be what you needed  
me to be"  
  
I lean forward until my forehead is resting against his, and hold onto him  
tightly, absorbing some of his strength. "I'm sorry I kept you out" I say  
"I should have done this sooner"  
  
He nods and pulls me even closer, and this time I rest my head on his  
shoulder. "Maybe we should just start over" he says. "We can move in the  
same direction this time"  
  
I smile against his shoulder, my first real smile in longer than I care to  
remember, and I clutch him tightly "I'd like that."  
  
  
  
  
If wishes were horses  
  
  
I don't know what I'm doing here.  
  
I feel uncomfortable, like I'm out of my element. When I'm in the  
courtroom, I know what to say, and how to act, but I have no experience in  
a doctors office. No safety net. Do I sit? Do I stand? Do I pace? I feel  
like doing all three at the same time, which isn't possible, so I settle  
for sitting and fidgeting a lot. It's a good compromise.  
  
Doctor Hurley sits across from me, an air of calmness in contrast to my  
edginess. She wears an expression of understanding that's kind of  
comforting. If I needed a Doctor (which for the record I don't) I guess  
she'd be a good one to choose. It's kind of reassuring to me that she's  
looking after Lindsay.  
  
"Bobby" she says, with that New England accent that only people who've  
lived here their entire lives ever really perfect, "You should calm down, I  
won't hurt you"  
  
I look around the room again "I know, I'm sorry, I'm just…."  
  
"Uncomfortable?" she says "Out of you're element?" What, is the woman a  
mind reader? If anything the thought of that just serves to make me even  
more uneasy. "This is your first time with a psychiatrist?" I nod "Well why  
don't you take a deep breath and tell me why you're here"  
  
Maybe she can't read minds after all, I take the breath she recommended  
"I'm not here about me" I think that's an important point I need to  
clarify. She waits, so I continue "It's about Lindsay"  
  
She nods like she was expecting that answer, and leans forward "What about  
Lindsay?"  
  
"Well…" I pause, because I'm honestly not sure how to phrase it, how to put  
my fears into words. "She's regressing I guess"  
  
She raises an eyebrow "In what way?"  
  
"She's getting distant again, I think she's going back into her shell, I  
don't know how to bring her out of it"  
  
"And you think I can help you?"  
  
"Well she talks to you" She nods "And so I thought, maybe you could tell me  
what was wrong and how I could go about fixing it"  
  
"Bobby" she fixes me with a direct stare "You know I can't do that. You're  
a lawyer, you know that Doctor/Patient privilege is every bit as strong as  
Attorney/Client privilege"  
  
I really did know she was going to say that, but I figured it was worth a  
try anyway "I just want to help her"  
  
She nods "I understand that, but the answers you need aren't going to come  
from me, they need to come from Lindsay"  
  
"And if she won't talk to me?" I ask.  
  
"Maybe you aren't trying hard enough"  
  
Standing up, I give in to the urge to pace. "What more am I supposed to  
do?"  
  
"That's a good question" she says "What have you done so far?"  
  
I frown at her "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well" she says, looking up at me "She showed you her scars" I nod,  
wondering what Lindsay's told this woman about that night. "How did that  
make you feel?"  
  
"Great" it was the first word out of my mouth, but then I think maybe it  
wasn't the best choice "Umm, I mean…" I fumble trying to find something I  
think will be more appropriate.  
  
"It's okay, Bobby" she says, rescuing me "You were relieved"  
  
I nod "Yes"  
  
"And what did you do?"  
  
I give her a puzzled look "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, how did you react, this is obviously a big moment for both of you,  
what did you do, what did you say?"  
  
I pause for a moment thinking "I honestly don't remember what I said, I  
guess I told her I loved her, I gave her a hug"  
  
"And then?"  
  
"We ahhh… we…." I know I'm blushing.  
  
"You made love?" She says with a raised eyebrow.  
  
I nod "Yes"  
  
"And then?"  
  
"And then what?"  
  
"Did you talk?"  
  
I falter, I know I should say yes, because standing here, playing back the  
night, I know that's how it should have ended. But lying wont do anyone any  
good "No"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I recommence my pacing "I don't know, Lindsay seemed to want to go to  
sleep, and she'd been through so much that day. She'd been to see you and  
then showing me her scars…. I know how hard that was for her, so I didn't  
want to push her"  
  
"Was it hard for you?"  
  
I stop walking and turn to face her "Why?"  
  
"Well, seeing her scars, I can't imagine it was easy for you either?"  
  
"No it was okay" she raises an eyebrow in question, so I clarify "I'd seen  
them before. When I stayed over Lindsay liked to keep the room dark, but I  
could still see them" I shrug "It seemed important to her so I never made a  
deal out of it, but I already knew what they looked like"  
  
She seems to accept that answer "And after that night? You say she's  
regressing?"  
  
"Yeah, I thought….." I trail off, collecting my thoughts  
  
"What?"  
  
"I thought things would be alright, we'd taken this big step and things  
would just move on from there, then three nights later she wakes up  
screaming from a nightmare, and I ask her what's wrong and she wont tell  
me" I slump down into the chair in defeat "She's lying there in a cold  
sweat, shaking, and she says it was nothing, that I should go back to  
sleep"  
  
"And you let it go at that?"  
  
I nod, and she leans forward "Bobby do you think that maybe some of  
Lindsay's reluctance to tell you what she's feeling, might come from the  
fact that she knows you don't want to discuss it?"  
  
I look at her surprised "You think this is my fault?"  
  
"That's a good question, do you?"  
  
"No" my answer has a definite defensive tone to it "Of course not"  
  
She sits back "Why don't you lead me through the events of the stabbing,  
from your perspective?"  
  
I spring out of the chair again, and resume my pacing "You know I really  
didn't come here to talk about me"  
  
"No you came here to talk about Lindsay, but I can't help you with that. I  
can however listen, if you feel there's something you need to talk through"  
  
"I should go" I say, picking up my coat "This was a mistake"  
  
"No Bobby" She stands as well "I don't think it was, do you really think  
you're helping Lindsay by keeping everything inside, by thinking if you  
don't discuss the problems they'll go away. I can tell you from experience  
that that never works"  
  
She stands there, gauging my reactions, and I sigh, and drop my coat back  
over the chair "You know, there's not much I can tell you, I wasn't even  
there"  
  
"Where were you?" She asks, settling back into her chair.  
  
I so don't want to relive that night again, the fear, the anxiety, the  
guilt. I want to push it all away but I'm faced with the Doctors unwavering  
stare, and there's nowhere to hide. "I was at the courthouse"  
  
"You were running late?"  
  
I want to say yes, I want to be able to blame everything on a case that ran  
over, or bad traffic but I can't "No, I was killing time"  
  
"Why"  
  
I draw a deep breath, before continuing, I can feel my skin starting to get  
clammy "Helen…. that's Lindsay's best friend, wanted us to go on a double  
date, with some guy she just met, and I didn't want to go. I thought the  
later I got there the less time we'd have to spend out" Her expression  
remains neutral, and I'm glad, I don't think I could take a disapproving  
look right now.  
  
Regardless of that I turn and walk towards the window, the glass there has  
this strange reflective quality to it, almost like a transparent mirror.  
And I wonder if that's done on purpose, to force people to look at  
themselves or if it's just one of life's ironies "I thought Lindsay might  
be mad at me, but I was going to make up an excuse, so I stayed around for  
about half an hour wasting time, and when I got to the office there she was  
lying there….."  
  
I can't look at myself anymore so instead I close my eyes, an image of  
Lindsay lying in a pool of her own blood immediately comes to me, and I  
snap them open again. It appears there really is nowhere to hide here. I  
slowly turn around. Dr Hurley's regarding me quietly "What went through  
your mind when you opened the door?"  
  
"I thought she was dead" My voice is really hoarse, my throat dry. "I stood  
there for a moment and I thought she must be dead, and then I saw her move,  
so I rushed to her side and I called an ambulance…." I realise I'm holding  
my hands out in front of me, face up and I look down at them, remembering  
them covered with blood. "I put pressure on the wounds and waited for them  
to arrive" I shake my head and drop my hands back to my sides. "The rest is  
a blur"  
  
"What else do you remember?" I give her a blank look and she prompts "The  
recovery? It must have been slow, that can't have been easy for you either,  
all that time at the hospital"  
  
"I guess" I'm having trouble maintaining eye contact "I wasn't really there  
that much"  
  
"Why not?" I can hear the note of surprise that's crept into her voice. I  
was expecting censure.  
  
"I don't really do well in hospitals……. My mother died after a long battle  
with cancer" I wave a hand absently in front of me "I don't really want to  
discuss it"  
  
She must sense my resolve on this issue, because she lets it drop. "Okay,  
so what were you doing when you weren't at the hospital?"  
  
"I was there" I clarify "Just not all the time, apart from that, I… I was  
working" I shrug "And I was helping Helen locate the man responsible" 


End file.
